Chapter 1- Flashback
"IT'S YOUR GOD DAMNED FAULT! YOU CAUSED THAT MISTAKE TO BE BORN! YOU SCREWED AROUND AND GOT PREGNANT!"
"WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO? WAIT FOR YOU?"
A low whimper came from under a large, elevated bed. I was scared from the excessive screaming and crashes. It wasn't a new emotion; in fact, I was used to it. Everyday- since I was born- they would scream at each other after they got drunk. It would follow with me getting hit over and over and over until they were sober. They would then go right to sleep in the living room, kitchen, bathroom, etc. They would wake up and at night, restart the cycle of screaming. I got out from under the large bed and grabbed a bag. I began packing. Once done, I slung it over my shoulders and opened the window. The door then slammed open and shook the house.
My dad was on a rampage.
His hands were stained with blood- i guessed it was my mothers- and he had a crazed look in his eye. He was holding a gun in his right hand and a sword in the left. His large footsteps made me more fearful with every step. I instantly leaped at the window. I got through but suffered a large, deep cut from the side of my knee up to my hip side. I knew then and there that it would scar me for life. I instantly felt pain in my throat as I ran- my adoption father had shot me in the throat. Ignoring the agonizing throbbing and the hot red liquid that was pouring from the wound, I kept running. If I stopped, I would most likely end up like my dad. I ended up in a big city that was miles away from my former home. Since that day, I have never spoken one word.
~2 years later~
I had survived life on my own for two boring years. Life was tough; barely any food drove me to anorexia nervosa (where you never eat.) Always being touched by pitying women (they were always trying to see if I was proper quality enough to take me home) gave me a being-touched-phobia (I believe its Heptaphobia but I might be wrong.) Seeing countless numbers of murders and suicides led me to the brink of suicide and depression. But, I got smarter and stronger from all of those. I could defend myself easily and I even got a random hobo to teach me kung-fu. I walked through the streets and searched for the nearest gun store. Once I found my destination, I walked inside and tried to contain my excitement.
Using the last of my money, I purchased a gun and one bullet. My feet stopped at my final destination and I looked at the bullet in my hand before loading it into the gun and stepping up onto a large podium. This show will scare the living daylights out of everyone who watched. I was now swarmed by people who were all watching me with sad and disapproving expressions. It caused me to grin as I raised the barrel of the revolver to my right temple. I could hear a few shouts of "don't do it!" and "spare your life!" but it didn't matter what they said. I opened my eyes, showing red demon cat eyes that were the source of most people's nightmares. I grinned and my unusually sharp canines glimmered in the sun.
That was the day I committed suicide.